


Dissatisfaction

by love_another



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Arguing, Emotional, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Fantasy, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 22:55:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4455674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/love_another/pseuds/love_another
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The pull of a faerie's lullaby is oh so tempting to the mortal ear. Jareth/Sarah one shot. Marking as complete, but subject to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dissatisfaction

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Hello! Another one shot came to me overnight, and I stayed up until the wee hours getting it down. I apologize if this feels rushed, and am open to suggested edits as you see fit. I hope that you'll enjoy this! Read on, friends!

It had been a month or so, she'd lost count of the days since she had willed herself from Above. The thought was not lost on her as Sarah peered languidly from a sill atop Jareth's tower of sandstone, grimacing. Her nights worried her the most of anything here, for she rarely slept. Her body would not allow it, for the setting was too unfamiliar, the scents and sounds too eerily alluring to allow her the luxury of slumber. So she would perch there, in that same window, almost nightly (there would be times where she could ward off the insomnia, mind you), view cast over the expanse of the Labyrinth and its ever-changing walls. _His_ Labyrinth. She tsk-ed, hushed, pursing her lips in distaste. Everything here was as much his as it was  _hers_ , damn it all. She'd been this blasted world's champion. Didn't that warrant some shared custody? Power?

" _Anything_?" Sarah whined, a grating spittle against the suspended silence of her bed chambers. Alone, and in arrogant confidence, she slammed her fists against her bed frame, beating it for all she was worth, for all of the frustration and confusion mulling just beneath the surface of her skin. Why had she left? Why had she given in? What was she here for?

She cried out in pain suddenly, a knuckle split after a rather spritely crack at the lip of the wood. Sarah jolted back in haste, cradling her hand awkwardly. It swelled and pounded in protest, a trickle of glistening blood flowing from her middle finger's base.

Sarah suddenly felt awash with life. She flexed her hand tentatively, brow furrowing. The injured hand screamed for stillness, but the fires shooting up from her fingertips made Sarah warrant anything but.

That was what had been missing, then.  _Purpose_ , she examined the ever-throbbing wound in unbridled curiosity,  _how peculiar_. The moonlight entwined itself lightly between her fingers as she continued their bending and straightening, wrapping her ivory skin in a soft blanket of indigo. It beckoned to her from the window, willing her to step foot outside. Wordlessly, and as though pulled by some invisible force (this would be the second time now!), Sarah floated down the stairs of her tower, past Jareth's study, and down, into the dim light of a faux dawn that crept silently, motherly, through the trees and statues just beyond.

She had not seen the light that flickered beneath the closed threshold of the study's heavy doors in her descent.

" _Pity._ " A lurid, cool voice murmured absently from within. Slumber had dimmed her awareness, the poor girl.

Jareth lay sprawled over an enormous leather settee, clad in nothing more than a pair of riding pants; he fiddled absently with a crystal, lolling it back and forth over his hand. Adorned in his usual belittling smirk, he caught the crystal in his grasp, shifting his intentions toward a sill to his left. He seemed to float towards the window then, turning his lip up as he followed Sarah's gentle, albeit gangly, steps outside; she was headed to the courtyard, as far as he could tell. He smiled deliberately then, realization spreading gleefully across his face;  _they wanted her to play, did they_? Oh, what fun this would be to see. Jareth could not withhold the clap of his gloved hands together in utter delight, grin curling wickedly onto either cheek.

"We will see just how much delight this will bring to you, Sarah-mine."

Within another mind, Sarah at once found herself outside, bare feet padding ungracefully through the dust that littered the masonry leading to the castle. Voices, whispers, were drawing her nearer and nearer to the center– the courtyard. She'd only seen it from above, and it had seemed grand then; now it was grand _iose_. She stepped a reverent foot onto velvety grass, dewey in the teasings of early morning light– she smiled. A light flickered around her endlessly, dancing to the rhythm of a present hymn, soft and sweet in Sarah's young ear. She dove in headfirst with the light, to a dance she'd never met with before; it was nearly a drunken stupor, save that she had no alcohol to affect her, no drugs to make her high. No, she rode out this fiery pleasure that stung through her from her afflicted hand, swinging her arms out and up, twirling between lights and shimmers that continued to appear around her. She slipped languidly through thickets of rose buds, fragrant blossoms; the melody she heard never wavered. It was celtic, ancient in nature, primal. The down beat thick and heavy within her heart, she pounded it down with the balls of her feet, into the Earth. She sent her liveliness as a sentinel to the core, as though searching for an answer from the ground beneath her feet to the questions that plagued her so. She danced for answers she would never have, the foolish thing.

Jareth shook his head, clucking his teeth chidingly. Watching from afar, they were tempting her with music, so it seemed. Sarah was far too exhausted and seeking respite to see truth; she'd been walking through a dream.  _One he would not touch_. It scalded him, even thinking of this thread. It burned as a white-hot coil in her crystal, angry and daring. It mocked him in its singeing vigor, the only thing that he could not interfere with inside the subconscious of Sarah Williams. Her purpose belittled him; he sneered at the thought, turned away from the window a moment. He might have left her to rot in the sweet perfumes of the gardens below, had his suspicions not come to fruition. A scream bounced shrilly across the walls of the castle as if on cue, Sarah's struggle becoming all too apparent below. Jareth was at her side without a moment's hesitation. He shooed the faeries away with little more than a flick of his wrist, his other hand grasping Sarah's wrist firmly. She struggled against him a moment, pausing only at his warning glance thereafter.

"You willed them to come, Sarah. Why?" His tone dipped from admonishment to a deeper sense of urgency, his eyes hooded in concern. Foolish had he been, assuming a lighter end to this night's... _festivities_. What was it she wanted then? What wrought such disdain through this poor, no– idiotic girl before him? He turned away, not giving himself the benefit of explanation; a tug of her wrist to come inside instead– she yanked her hand away, in sudden copious waves of pain. The adrenaline had worn off at last.

She stood stupidly behind him, shivering in the damp morning air, clutching her fist. She flexed it nervously, chewing her bottom lip. An apology crept to her lips, but it bottlenecked right on her tongue. What point was there in apologizing if there was nothing to apologize  _for_? Sarah chided herself absently, gaze warily rising to Jareth's stern mien. She winced, anticipating a slap. Nothing came, save for silence.

Jareth had spun himself away to his study before she could so much as open her mouth to explain. He'd already known the answer. Dissatisfaction was always readily palpable for him; Sarah's lip curled reflexively, frustration rising again within her. He certainly had that way about him, didn't he? Always knowing? She glanced down at her fist again– the space surrounding the split knuckle had begun its decent into black and blue, the very tip of the wound warranting a sickly poignant yellow. This was life then, and it had its consequences. She grimaced accordingly, beginning her tired journey back to her bed.

They both knew this far too well, however. One was only more readily willing to admit it, and she only had an injured hand to show. The other cowered in his study instead, alone and crippled by its unrelenting grip over his heart. Emotion, usually lost to him, befell him in these wee hours of the morning; thank goodness no one could hear him cry.

 


End file.
